


Pattern of Escalation

by yonderdarling



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Platonic Male/Female Relationships, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 08:51:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3930574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yonderdarling/pseuds/yonderdarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New text from SHERLOCK HOLMES: do u kno where poker is need 4 experiment re iron w8/buoyancy ty also i love you.</p><p> Well, it had been a relatively normal month.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pattern of Escalation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [melinyel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melinyel/gifts).



> So a while back I posted some speculation on the Elementary finale that the show was building up to having Sherlock say 'I love you' to Joan. Professional life-ruiner secretallie proceeded to do some highly scientific calculations regarding the pattern of escalation and repetition of the phrase that would result if Sherlock did say 'I love you' in the show, along with some highly scientific potential scenes.
> 
> This fic was the result.

It had been a fairly uneventful month, case-wise. Roommate wise, Sherlock had been thoughtful and tolerable around seventy-five percent of the time, bee release notwithstanding. At one point they'd nearly been kidnapped by a wise-cracking, drug-dealing taxi driver until Joan had incapacitated him with a steering wheel lock and released Sherlock from the trunk. Uneventful, all in all. 

Joan woke up, because Sherlock shouted something from the kitchen. It began with 'Watson,' but was unintelligible other than that because he was simultaneously listening to Sibelius at a ridiculous volume. That was the other twenty-five percent of non-tolerable living with Sherlock Holmes. 

"WATSON! War redmayne is Eddie! Evolve you!" 

She could smell bacon. You didn't need to be a detective to deduce it was something about breakfast. 

Later, Joan surmised, that was probably the first time. 

\----

They were briefly undercover for a case Marcus was working, involving a string of robbery-homicides on the Upper East side. Joan and Sherlock sat at a table in an expensive restaurant, Joan thankful that for once she didn't have to deal with some evil mistress of crime before they got to order. Sherlock eyed off Jackson Renson, the suspected mastermind, as he inspected a wine list.

"You're not drinking anything," she reminded him.

"It's all swill anyway. Dear. Though, if you want to drink anything-"

"I'll be fine, don't worry."

"If Bell's information is correct, the other ringleader should be meeting with him out any moment now," Sherlock said. Joan knocked her menu to the floor, used it as an excuse to scan her blind side of the restaurant. 

"I love you," said Sherlock, presumably trying to keep their cover as she leant over. Joan sat up immediately, hair tousled, glanced around. 

"Did you see them?" she asked, and he shook his head.

"Shall we order?" he asked. "The duck sounds really good."

 ----

SHERLOCK: hope ur d8 goes well if not [eye emoji] [less-than-three-sign] 3 u 

JOAN: You can't use emojis in your texts to me since I downgraded my phone. Baelich case, it broke, remember?

SHERLOCK: point still stands also may have adopted several guinea pigs in ur absence. c u @ home

 ----

Joan Watson's cell phone was ringing.  

It was 6 AM.

In every career she'd had so far (papergirl, lifeguard, medical receptionist, surgeon, sober companion, consulting detective) this wasn't exactly an unusual thing. It wasn't welcome either, but-

"Hello," she mumbled, half into the phone, half into her pillow. She spat out a strand of hair. 

"Watson," and it was Sherlock, of course. "There's been a murder. Just heard on the scanner. Please be dressed and ready to go in ten minutes." He paused. "See you downstairs. I love you." He hung up and Joan rolled over to squint out the window and ascertain the weather. She was halfway through putting on her last pair of ladderless tights when she realised. She yanked on the nearest skirt and boots to hand and grabbing her things, hurried out of her room. 

Sherlock blinked up at her as she descended the stairs, shrugging on her coat. He too was wrapped up warmly, snow beginning to fall outside.

"Morning," he said, his voice rough with the early hour, and handed her a coffee flask. "Shall we? I've called a cab - the scene's going to be compromised by the weather if we don't hurry."

Joan took the coffee without moving her gaze from Sherlock's face.

"I don't have anything on my face, do I?" he asked. "I fell asleep into a bowl of caramelised popcorn earlier and I haven't managed to check a mirror."

She shook her head, trying to hide a smile. "No, no. I must be imagining things."

 ----

A murder had taken place in the courtyard of a small, exclusive law firm. The victim wore a pale green coat and emerald-green beanie, her white-blonde hair spread over the thin layer of snow. Joan stood by Marcus as he flipped through his small notebook.

"Imogen Lynch," he said. "Aged 41, she's the wife of one of the partners here. Society wife, used to work as a secretary here until she met her husband."

"Lynch is Irish," said Sherlock, squatting down by Imogen's body. "What was her maiden name?"

"Fitzwilliam."

"Both of Irish extraction originally," he said. Carefully he leant and sniffed at a smear of something brown on the woman's coat sleeve. "If I'm not mistaken, this is a spice almost unique to Armenian cuisine."

"No Armenians here, as far as I can tell," said Marcus. "But there is a guy about to be made partner whose parents were from Turkey."

Sherlock nodded. "Very well. I'll stay with the Captain while we question the night staff - Bell, you'll be going to the deceased's home? Watson, would you like to accompany him?"

Joan nodded. Bell tucked his notebook into his pocket and began to head back out to his car.

"See you at the precinct later," said Joan.

"Yes. I love you."

 

Marcus and Joan walked in silence back to the car. He unlocked it, and Joan slid into the passenger seat. Marcus got into the driver's side and looked at her strangely.

"He didn't just say what I thought he said, did he?"

"Honestly, I don't know if he realizes he's saying it."

 ----

Sherlock sat on the stand, with his vacant kind of smile and staring eyes. Up in the gallery, Joan felt her face turning tomato-red and hot. She dropped her head into her hands.

"If the - clerk could read that back," said the judge, clearly trying to hide his laughter. "Just that last part."

The clerk cleared her throat, adjusted her glasses. "And that was when I was sure I could hear a small child crying inside the apartment. I asked my associate, Miss Watson, whom I love dearly-"

And the laughter started up again.

\----

Sherlock paused in the entrance of her room, tapped on the doorframe. Joan looked over from where she was sitting cross-legged on the bed.

"Have you fed Clyde?" he asked.

"Can we talk about what you said in the courtroom the other day?"

"No. Have you fed Clyde yet?"

"Sherlock-"

"Unconscious shake of the head to my first question, you haven't." He turned and Joan could hear him clattering down the stairs, shouting over his shoulder. "I love you!"

\---

SHERLOCK: Am having intercourse this evening may be loud srry. Ms H wants 2 take u out 4 dinner regardless will b done when u get back. love u

\----

It had stopped being a quiet month.

\----

Sherlock stood over a corpse that had been exhumed, exsanguinated, decapitated and eviscerated, though not necessarily in that order. With a pen, he poked at part of a green, mouldy limb. 

"This is utterly gruesome," he said quietly, then glanced up to see Joan standing in the doorway with Marcus, a hand held over her mouth. "By the way, I love you."

 ----

They sat in a row of three in the interview room, Marcus, Sherlock, Joan. Together, they stared down Terrence Vimes, accused of stealing almost a million dollars worth of information from an insurance firm and murdering his accomplice, Sam Pratchett, in the process.

"I didn't do it, and you've got nothing on me. I was at my girlfriends," the man said smugly.

"You're lying. Your skin carries the distinct odour of the budgerigars at your victims flat and there is a small smear of his chosen peanut butter brand, used to make bird feeders, on your left shoe. Detective Bell, I leave him in your capable hands. Watson, I shall see you at home. I love you."

The door slammed shut. The trio in the interview room listened in stunned silence as they heard Gregson faintly say, "What the hell…" from behind the mirror, walk out of the observation room, slam his own door and march down the corridor, shouting, "Holmes!"

Marcus looked at Joan. Joan looked at the ceiling. Vimes stared at the door.

"…He's not coming back in, is he? Because I'll tell you everything you wanna hear, just don't let him come back."

\----

A copycat killer attempting to replicate M's modus operandi appeared in New Jersey, and Sherlock and Joan were called across to assist in the investigation. Here Sherlock said nothing as he caught Joan's eye across pools of blood and tripod scratches in the floor.

After that case was solved, Joan found Sherlock asleep on the floor of the living room in front of the fire, fully dressed and still holding his cell phone. She shook his shoulder gently.

"Hey," she said. "Wanna at least sleep on the couch?"

"Mmph."

As she helped him up, the pattern of the carpet imprinted on his cheek, he turned to her with half-lidded eyes and-

"Yes, I love you," said Joan, cutting him off. "I love you too. Now, time for all good detectives to go to bed."

 Joan meant to broach the topic properly the following morning, but Sherlock woke her up with a thrown ball of paper and a cup of tea (thankfully not thrown, the Smoothie Incident was something they didn't discuss) and they were soon on their way to a crime scene.

 ----

Halfway through that investigation, Joan was attempting to catch a 20-minute powernap after two exhausting, albeit fruitful, all-nighters. The ability to will herself to sleep, something she'd learned as a surgeon was slowly coming back to her. She closed her eyes, rolled onto her side. Her phone vibrated and she sighed. One hand snaked out from under the covers.

 SHERLOCK: Have a gr8 nap! love you.

She rolled onto her back, hand over her eyes, for the next eighteen minutes. 

At the nineteenth minute, her phone vibrated again.

SHERLOCK: Ordered dinner. Will b here in 10 love you!

\---

MARCUS: Holmes still being weird?

JOAN: Yes. But to be honest, it's a good weird. 

\----

"What a gruesome murder," said Sherlock, as the society wife responsible for the death of Imogen Lynch was loaded onto the gurney. "Lynch's husband should have waited for the police."

"Sometimes people just can't control themselves," said Bell. "It's a tragedy. I kind of hope the guy still thinks it's worth it when he's sitting in a cell." Shaking his head, the handsome detective strolled away.

Sherlock looked down at Joan, cocked his head to one side. "I love you," he said.

Joan knew something was up, but she was tired, and she was upset, and confused. "Do you need to say that when there's still blood spatter on the walls?"

"I thought you'd appreciate hearing it."

"I do but - I just…. they haven't even brought the murder weapon into evidence yet."

\----

SHERLOCK: do u kno where poker is need 4 experiment re iron w8/buoyancy ty i love you

\----

Joan was showering, a rare moment of zen. She closed her eyes in the warm spray of water as she shampooed her hair, enjoying the lavender-lemon scent (along with apparently extra moisture-retention technology, but she didn't really care about that).

There was a loud bashing at the door.

"WATSON."

'THIS BETTER BE IMPORTANT." 

"DO YOU KNOW WHY I KEEP SAYING I LOVE YOU?" Sherlock yelled.

'….WHY DO YOU KEEP SAYING I LOVE YOU?"

"….COULD YOU COME OUT OF THE SHOWER PLEASE I WASN'T PLANNING ON SAYING THIS THROUGH A CLOSED DOOR."

Joan was no longer enjoying the lavender-lemon scent. She emerged from the bathroom in her robe, hair in a towel. Sherlock took one look at her expression.

"I am going to wait - downstairs." he said. "Take your time."

 ----

She emerged, dressed in sweatpants, an old blue t-shirt and her red cardigan, her hair still damp. Sherlock was sitting by the fire, fingers drumming rapidly on the arms of his chair. As she entered the room, he shot to his feet. 

"Please, take a seat," he said, gesturing.

"I prefer to stand."

"Very well." He straightened his jacket. "You may have noticed I've been saying-"

"I noticed," said Joan. 

"It makes you uncomfortable."

"It makes a _lot_ of people uncomfortable."

"I'm sorry," said Sherlock, and it sounded like he meant it. "I've never been in this situation before, and usually I'd talk to you about it - eventually - but as you are the centre of this issue. Well. I didn't feel comfortable broaching the subject with Alfredo or Marcus or even Miss Hudson."

"Okay, so you're ready to talk about it now?" Joan finally sat on the couch, tucking her feet up underneath her.

"The Captain followed up with me this afternoon, after a discussion we had during the Vimes case. Over the past two years - three years, the course of our relationship, our partnership, our-"

"Friendship?" Joan supplied, and Sherlock smiled. 

"Yes. I've had few friends. None as close to me as you. None as special to me, as you. The trouble with friendship Watson, is that in our culture at least, there are relatively few ways of expressing deep platonic affection. There is no room in our language for it, for that kind of nuance. There is a Tagalog word that fits-"

" _Sherlock_. I appreciate what you're telling me. Genuinely, I do. But it's kind of inappropriate to drop it into literally every conversation we have."

"I don't drop it into _every_ conversation."

"I was holding a dead man's kidney last week and you managed to fit it in while you were reading his autopsy report."

"I shouldn't. I know. But I am terribly, horrifically aware of both how tenuous and unsafe the life we live is, and that I ran out on you and New York a little over a year ago. It is one of the great regrets of my life - though I did get to know Kitty, and she is someone I cannot regret." Joan nodded. "There are large ways I can make that up to you, and small ways, and I just need you to hear that."

"That you love me."

"Platonically. It's as strong as the other great love of my life. With the added bonus that I doubt you're leading a double life as a mass-murdering criminal mastermind. If you were I'd be genuinely impressed, you haven't had much spare time these past few months. There is no room in English for this conversation. And so it's escalated, from me trying to do small things - letting you sleep in, making you breakfast, making sure I ate regular meals so you didn't worry, getting rid of the guinea pigs, letting you steal my old shirts out of the clean laundry and pretending not to notice," he gestured at her top. 

"Men's clothing tends to be better made than women's. Really, I don't mind. And then I grew impatient, and this pattern of escalation began. And though I'm sure you care for me, I needed to make sure you knew of the depth of my feelings."

"I told you I loved you," said Joan.

"I'm quite sure I would remember that. Can I just say-"

"After the M-copycat. You were half asleep, but you - "

Sherlock huffed out a laugh. "Ah. I remember now. I thought I dreamt that."

"Well, you didn't. I love you too, by the way," said Joan, looking at her knees again. She looked up to see Sherlock beaming across at her. "You giant moron. I can't believe you got me out of the shower for this."

"I had a whole speech planned out. I am bad at this Watson. But I'm trying." he said, sounding vaguely peeved. "And dinner is in the oven. Would you like to hear the speech?"

Joan patted the couch cushion next to her. Sherlock made a motion to sit down, changed his mind and stood, finally sat down on the couch beside her.

"It's chicken, by the way," he said. "My dear Watson. Since our first days together, our relationship has altered both who I am and how I perceive myself. You have proved to me time and again that my methods of solitude are not the only ways that can work. Though I haven't always been able to demonstrate my appreciation for this, I am trying. For more reasons than I've been able to quantify or understand, I am - I've said it before. I am better with you, Watson. What we share may not be traditional, but it works. And I am-"

He was interrupted by Joan's hair in his mouth as she moved over and flung her arms around his neck. Slowly his arms came up to encircle her waist, his hands resting on her back.

"I am forever grateful I can call you my friend."

"How many times did you rehearse that?" Joan said into his shoulder.

"I am also grateful for your habit of taking such long showers," he said. "Oh, and I love you."

Eventually Joan pulled away, then after a moment rested her hand on his wrist. "I love you too." Sherlock nodded, and there they sat, until they realized there was food in the oven.

\----

 There was a sharp tapping at her door. No.   
"It's too early. It's dark!" Joan shouted into the pillow. "G'away."  
"It's never too early for murder, Watson!"   
"Get away."  
"I'll see you downstairs in fifteen minutes. Bell and the Captain are en-route to the scene already."

\----

The murderer was led away in handcuffs, shooting a death glare at Sherlock, Joan, Marcus and Gregson. 

"That was a hell of a lucky break with finding the weapon on the first drag of the river," said Gregson. "I'm not complaining. Nice work, everyone." He nodded to the trio. "Got to head to a meeting with the DA. I'll be seeing you."

"Captain, if I could just have a word," said Sherlock, following him out the door. "I wanted to thank you for the other day…"

Alone in the corridor for a moment, Marcus turned to Joan. 

"So uh," he said. "Did you sort out that weird thing Holmes was doing?"

"Oh yeah. We talked it out. It's fine now."

"You sure?"

"Believe me, Marcus. He meant well. He's trying."

"It's not romantic is it? Because you guys don't seem like a couple in that way-"

"No, it's not like that at all," said Joan. 

"RIght. Cool. Good. Because I was wondering. Because we finished up kind of early." Marcus stuck his hands in his pockets. "Would you like to go get some coffee?"

Joan felt a slow smile spreading across her face. "That sounds like a great idea."

 ----

JOAN: Getting coffee with Marcus, will be back around 5?

SHERLOCK: c u then have good time remember we have 2 work w/ him in future. im making pasta 4 dinner want some?

JOAN: Yes pls. See you at home. Love you.

SHERLOCK: Love you too. 

 

 


End file.
